Lovely Elaena
by Arysandra
Summary: The story of one of the gems of the Maidenvault. Follows Elaena Targaryen from her birth to her death.
1. Birth

**Birth**

The queen had gone in labour six-and-ten hours ago, and the royal babe still hadn't been delivered.

Childbirth had left Queen Daenaera pale and exhausted. An army worth of midwives that her husband had supplied her with hadn't made this any more easier. The pain was unbearable, it felt as though the babe was _tearing_ its way out of her, and its end had still yet to come.

Queen Daenaera hadn't let any of her children be present in the room of course, even though all four of them had expressed the same curiosity and interest in seeing the youngest of the litter entering the world. Alas, they were too young, the oldest of them, her prized Daeron, being only seven years of age. Well, seven years and four moons old, and he'd remind everyone on a daily basis, wether they'd like to know or not. After all, he was the prince, the _crown prince_ , to be precise.

And the childbirth room was no man's place.

 _It is, though,_ this _man's place_ , she thought, as another wave of pain seized her, and her king of a husband, Aegon Targaryen, the Third of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, entangled his fingers to hers. He was pale, he had always been pale, but anxiety had drained any colour left on his white face. Even his pale silvery hair seemed less lush and bright that day. The only thing that remained the same were his eyes - dark, purple, and sad.

The queen left out another moan. Her king squeezed her hand.

'It's alright, it's going to be alright,' he assured her with words she was certain he didn't believe himself.

 _Why are you here?_ she wanted to ask but couldn't find the power to. _You need not be here. You're the king. Your subjects need you. Why waste time in a woman's matter?_ Duty, she knew. Duty and Viserys' persuation.

As peculiar was his behaviour for a man, Daenaera was, secretly, thankful for his presence. She was only twenty-three, and she was pregnant, and she didn't want to die, not alone. Well, there were about six midwives present, but she didn't know any of them personally. Not that she knew Aegon all that much, either. He was always so cold and distant, the only person who could claim to know him well without being accused of lying was Viserys, his own brother, and only man on earth he fully trusted. Sometimes, Daenaera felt she knew her husband's brother better than she knew her actual husband.

'I don't like this,' she heard one of the midwives say, but her voice was distant and unworldly, as though she was speaking from miles away. But Daenaera knew she only was standing inches from her.

'Shut your foolish mouth, or the Stranger might hear you,' another chatisted her. She wasn't sure who was who. She only wanted this torment to end. She wanted to pain to go away, and hold her babe in her arms, like she had done four more times in the past.

She couldn't feel Aegon's hand anymore. She couldn't feel it despite his tight grip.

'Aaaargh.'

Finally, the babe was out, covered in blood and screaming. It screamed, and screamed and screamed, and despite the pain, Daenaera left a sigh of relief. _It's over._

The oldest of the midwives handed the babe to her, wrapped tight in black blankets stripped with red, and uttered some words to her, words she couldn't understand but she cared not. She was holding that perfect little creature in her arms, and for the first time in that day, she could ignore the pain and exhaustion.

'It's a girl,' her royal husband informed her. 'A girl.'

Daenaera nodded, but couldn't bring herself to mind the babe's gender. The only thing that mattered was her babe sucking her nipple. It wasn't even the first time she had a suckling in her breast, but it still felt like it was.

Her fifth, her fifth babe. And the eighth, technically, child that she would take care of, for she had previously been a mother to everything but name to Viserys's children ever since their mother, the beautiful Larra Rogare of Lys had abandoned them. They weren't children anymore, though. Aegon and Aemon were men, and Naerys would soon be a woman as well.

The queen kissed the top of her fifth child's bald head.

'Elaena,' she declared. 'Her name is Elaena.'

Aegon nodded. His face was expressionless. Whether he liked the name or not, he kept it to himself. Daenaera took this to mean he approved, or didn't care enough to protest. But it wasn't like Aegon had never see to his children getting proper names. He had been the one to name their second-born son and second-born daughter, Baelor and Rhaena, named for his half-sisters, Baela and Rhaena, daughters of the infamous Rogue Prince, Daemon Targaryen (who had been Aegon's own father) and his fair lady Laena of House Velaryon.

'I was thinking of your aunt, the Queen Helaena,' she explained, quite answer on which term to use for her. Queen or princess? Would any of them offend her husband? 'As a tribute. It's time to mend the wounds.'

Aegon nodded again, seemingly emotionlessly, but Daenaera could detect a twinge of pain in his eyes. The Dance of the Dragons had inflicted too much pain on him, she knew. The shadows in his eyes hadn't left, and she knew they would never leave, either.

'It's a great idea,' he said quietly. 'Elaena. I like it. I would bet she'll grow to like it as well,' he said, caressing the babe's cheek. It was a rare moment of warmth from his side, and Daenaera closed her eyes. She wanted to treasure that picture, to memorise it, for she knew she'd never see something like that from Aegon again.

'I'm looking forward to introducing the children to their new sister,' she said. She wondered if Viserys had a moment to spare to come visit her. He was ever busy, that Viserys.

'Not yet,' Aegon replied. 'You need to relax, and so does the babe. Daeron, Baelor, Daena and Rhaena can wait.'

'Of course,' she agreed, and planted another kiss on Elaena's head.

 **A/N:** English is not my native language, so please forgive the language. As you might have guessed by now, this centers around Elaena Targaryen, specifically her birth, from her mum's POV.

Disclaimer: Oh my sweet summer child, if I were GRRM, you think I'd post material on instead of selling them in proper book form to make $$$?

Reviews are always welcome.


	2. Watching the Last Dragon Die

**Watching the Last Dragon Die**

The day was too hot, three-year-old Elaena thought, safe in her mother's arms.

It was summer, four days after the sixth moon of the 153th year after Aegon's Conquest. Elaena wasn't wandering around the Red Keep as she would on a normal day. Instead, she, her parents, brothers and sisters and half the population of King's Landing had gathered in the Dragonpit, where they were waching the last dragon die.

It was the only dragon Elaena had ever seen, and she didn't excite her much. An ill-looking, frail green female one, it was, her head no bigger than one of the kennelmaster's dog's. Uninteresting. Boring. The little girl had been dreaming of ferocious beasts ever since her brother Daeron had told her what dragons were. But there were no more dragons, Daeron had added in a sad voice. 'They're all dead, sister', he had said. 'And they'll never come again.'

Thus, little Elaena had to settle for that one. The sickly, fragile little freak.

Why couldn't she be a little bigger, like the dragons on the illustrations on the books Daeron showed her? Elaena would mount her then. They would cross the Narrow Sea together, they'd get on adventures -

'Is this the dragon the whole fuss is about?' Elaena heard the favourite of her siblings, Daena, ask their mother, her pretty nose wrinkled. 'That's no dragon, that's no more than a snake.'

'It's all what is left,' Daenaera explained calmly to her. 'Once, great beasts flew in the skies, huge enough to shadow the whole of King's Landing.

'I'd like one of those,' said Daena, and Elaena couldn't help but agree with her sister. 'I was born to ride a dragon.'

'The dragons are gone,' said Daeron, a daring boy of ten, impatiently, like he couldn't stand his sister's stupidity.

'And it's for the best they are,' whispered Baelor. It was the first time Elaena had heard him speak the entire day. He was very quiet, that brother of hers.

Daena pouted.

'I wish I knew what a real dragon looked like,' she said. 'I bet they were nothing like this snake.'

'Ask your father,' suggested Daenaera with a smile.

Daena snorted.

'What's the point?' she asked. 'He won't tell me, he never talks about dragons, he never talks about anything -' As much as Daena adored her father, his unwillingness to talk about dragons irritated his oldest daughter, who was high-spirited and careless and cheerful and dreamed of participating in a tourney some day.

'Then maybe you should stop asking him,' Daeron said, with a smug smile.

Daena smacked Daeron in the shoulder, albeit lightly. She'd never dream of truly hurting him, who was her favourite sibling.

Elaena glanced around. People from all seven of the kingdoms were present to see the dragon before she died. For most, it was their only chance, she realised. Not everyone lived in King's Landing, not everyone could afford to visit at any time.

Not far away, stood the rest of Elaena's family. There was Uncle Viserys, shrewd, and older-looking than he truly was. There was his son Aegon, carelessly handsome and bored. Aemon was, as always, in his white Kingsguard armor. The last member of their family, Naerys, delicate, sweet-smelling Naerys, was heavy. She was going to become a mother, the maesters kept telling her, but none of them would tell Elaena how did the child end up in Naerys's belly, nor how it'd get out.

Elaena liked Naerys well enough, but she was no fun. She wasn't like Daena, wild, outspoken Daena. If anything, Naerys was a lot like Rhaena, quiet and timid, and even worse, like Baelor. She liked Aemon as well (he was, after all, a knight) but was too mild for her likening. And Aegon... Aegon was capricious and loud, and there was something about him that made Elaena cringe. She couldn't put her foot on what it was. Maybe it was his greedy eyes, or grasping hands. Naerys looked a lot more miserable ever since she had married him, earlier that same year.

Farther still, Elaena could see her father's sisters, along with their husbands and children, who would pay a visit to King's Landing once in a blue moon. Baela and Rhaena, after whom Elaena's brother and sister Baelor and Rhaena had been named. Elaena liked Rhaena. Rhaena was very pretty, tall and willowy, with silver-white hair and lovely bluish-purple eyes. Her twin sister Baela looked just like her, except for some bad burns across her face, which extended to her arms and hands. Elaena couldn't like Baela, no matter how she tried. Her malformed face frightened her too much. She would always cry when Baela tried to hold her. It wasn't her fault. Baela was _scary_. She didn't want her anywhere near her.

Next to her, stood a man much more beautiful and interesting than her. Her husband, Elaena guessed. Why would a man as pretty as he ever take a woman as ugly as Baela, Elaena knew not. Tall, broad-shouldered, long-haired, he stool proud like a cypress. He had the look of knight, or, at least, looked like how knights should, according to Elaena, at least. He must be someone great, Elaena decided. Someone important. I will ask Father.

The tall, curly-haired, dressed-in-green man next to Rhaena whispered something in his wife's ear. Elaena couldn't hear what, but it made Rhaena cringe, and Elaena could swear she saw her aunt shed a tear. Baela took her sister's and clenched it tight. She too whispered words in Rhaena's ears, which only made it worse. Baela's eyes were too glistening with water. Elaena wondered why were the two women so shaken. What memories could a dragon have brought up?

Suddenly, the dragon left a cry. A desperate call for help. She tried to stand up, but fell back again.

'Will it soar and fly?' Daena asked thrilled, suddenly much more interested in the dragon than she was before.

'I don't think so,' said Daeron. 'She's too frail, she's about to die.'

'Poor beast,' sighed Elaena's sister Rhaena, embracing her own arms.

'It's for the best,' Baelor muttered again. 'Dragons are no good.'

Daena glared at her brother.

'If I had a dragon, I'd order him to spit fire at you!' she said and pulled out her tongue.

Baelor looked at her scandalised, but Daeron bursted into laughter.

'A good thing that you don't have a dragon, then,' their mother scolded her. 'Daena, I will let you know that that was very rude. And not lady-like at all. You should apologise to your brother at once.'

To Elaena's surprise, Daena nodded obediently. Daena! Daena, who, for as long as Elaena knew her, had been defiant.

'I am sincerely sorry, Baelor,' she said, with the most innocent look in the world, but the sparkle in her eyes said otherwise.

And true enough, when Baelor wasn't looking, she kicked him. Baelor, patient and forgiving as he was, didn't hold any grudge and actually smiled at Daena, who was momentarily confused, for she'd preferred it if her brother had lost his patience. Daena was so fresh, so wild, so willful... She'd give anything to be like her.

The she-dragon moaned again.

'She's dying,' said Rhaena, as if they didn't already know. 'Mother, can't anything be done for the poor creature?'

'Your uncle did suggest we give her the gift of mercy,' Daenaera said coldly. 'Your father forbade so.'

Daeron glanced warily at the dragon.

'If no one dares approach her, I can do it,' he volunteered. 'Just give me a sword, and she will suffer no more.'

Daenaera laughed, like Daeron had said something funny. Daeron crossed his arms. He was being very serious, why was his mother laughing at him? He had the nerve to accomplish such task. Nobody in the Red Keep doubted his valour. So why did she?

'Oh, sweetling,' she said, ruffling her son's white-blond hair with affection. 'The Gods know I admire your courage — I'd be a fool if I didn't — but this is not a job for a child.'

Daeron frowned, looking very much offended.

'I am ten!' he protested. 'I am not a child, I am almost a man grown. No one is as good as I am in jousting or archery or -'

'I know,' his mother hushed him. 'But you still haven't bloomed yet.'

'Bloom? Mother, I am not some stupid flower - or a girl.'

Daena kicked Daeron.

'Ow! What was that for?'

But Daena didn't honour his question with an answer.

'Mother, will the dragon die?' Elaena asked her mother.

The queen sighed.

'I fear so,' she replied. 'The maesters keep saying how she won't live for long, and once she's gone, dragons will have become extinct.'

Daena kicked the ground made of stone.

'I hate the maesters,' she announced. 'I hate those grey rats!'

'Daena!'

'Well, I do!' she said. 'Them and the septas are always trying to order me around -'

'And righfully so!" Queen Daenaera said sharply. Honestly, her oldest daughter could be so willful at times, it was fustrating. Why couldn't she be a little more like Rhaena?

'I don't like them either!' declared Elaena merrily, more because she wanted to side with Daena no matter what than because she actually despised maesters. She didn't really have a fixed opinion on them, but if Daena misliked them, they had to be awful.

'Hush, Elaena,' Rhaena scolded her. 'The maesters are wise and have such great knowledge, it's disrespectful to talk like that about them.'

Elaena bit her tongue. It wasn't fair. She'd only said what Daena had, and why was Rhaena so eager to defend them anyway? The maesters were to blame for the death of the dragons, according to Daena at least. They and their sorcery had deprived House Targaryen of their most treasured ally, their magnificent fire-breathing beasts.

'And the septas are holy women,' Baelor chirped happily. 'Who are pure and white, clean of all the sins that torment the common men and women -'

Daeron next to him rolled his eyes.

And then, it happened.

The green beast took wing and soared high. The people gathered in the pit watched in awe, as the she-dragon flew higher and higher in the dome of the Dragonpit.

'She can fly!' Daena's eyes had become as big as saucers. 'Mother, look at this! Can I mount her? Do you think I can ride-'

Daena's question was answered immediatelly; as she flew high, toward the great glass dome, the dragon left a cry, and fell, her wings unable to support her weight. She crushed into the stone floor, and stayed still.

Nobody dared break the silence. They all looked at the fallen dragon frozen, unable to move or talk.

And then Elaena began to cry.

Everybody started shouting and yelling, some young children mimicked Elaena and cried, all at once, as brave men ran toward the beast, only to find out that the last dragon, not just in King's Landing but in the whole of Westeros, the last remainder of the glory of House Targaryen, was no more.

The next day, Elaena's father King Aegon ordered the dragon's skull be put in the throne room, to adorn the room, along with all the other skulls of dragons of old. Placed in row according to size, the skull was the first one one would see as they would enter the throne room of the Red Keep in King's Landing. In years to come, Elaena would spend many hours looking with sadness at the skull, and all the other skulls, the ones of Balerion the Black Dread and Vhagar and Meraxes, the dragons that had belonged to Aegon and his wife-sisters, and day-dream about the day that all the dragon eggs that had turned to stone would hatch, and House Targaryen's faded glory would be restored.

 **A/N** : English is not my native language, so please forgive the language.

Second chapter! Writing such young children is quite the ordeal.

Disclaimer: Oh my sweet summer child, if I were GRRM, you think I'd post material here instead of selling them in proper book form to make sweet $$$?

Reviews are always welcome.


	3. A Father's Death

**A Father's Death**

It was a lie.

It had to be a lie, otherwise it would be the truth, and it was too terrible to be true.

Her father was only seven-and-thirty! How could a man so healthy, so young, be dying? It made little and less sense. Surely, that stupid idiot calling himself a maester, Munkun, was lying. He had to be. Elaena couldn't know his motives, but it was the only thing that made sense. Father's enemies (he was _king_ , he surely had sereval thousands of enemies) had probably bribed him to poison King Aegon, otherwise why was he dying?

"He is sick," Daeron had said with a stone-hard tone. "They say he grows more haggard each day, they say all the flesh has melted away."

That sounded too awful to be true. Elaena guessed Daeron was being dishonest (or too imaginative), because that sounded like a nightmare. The flesh melting away? Until there was none of it left? Why would that ever happen to him, him who had always been so nice and fair and good? Everybody loved King Aegon, low and highborn, her sister Daena always said. He had been one of the greatest kings the Seven Kingdoms had ever been blessed with. Better than that stupid uncle of his, another Aegon, better than his mother who had not _truly_ been a queen, better than –

It was probably a bad jape. The Gods were toying with them.

She said that last thing out loud.

"The Gods are _testing_ us," Baelor corrected her. "They want to see if our love for them is true. They want to know if we love them as much as they love us."

" _Love_?" Daena shrieked, and threw a heavy book at their brother, who avoided it easily. "Love? This is love to you? What sort of god takes your father and calls that love? What sort of idiot believes in such god? If this is what the Seven's love looks like, I truly dread to see their hatred!"

Baelor only shook his head. He had long understood his stupid little sister couldn't grasp the wisdom of the Seven, he had told Elaena a week or so ago. Elaena herself had long understood Baelor was a little bit of a miracle, for he had survived for thirteen years without a brain.

Elaena looked at Daeron, silent and pale, sitting in the corner. Father's condition had affected him as well, she knew. For the first time, Daeron didn't have his father guide him. What was the last time they had spoken to each other? Elaena knew no one was allowed in the king's chambers save for the maester and Prince Viserys who was also the Hand. The queen, their mother, and the five of them were not allowed to visit. _It is for your own safety_ , Uncle Viserys had claimed, but Elaena hadn't really believed him. If he prized safety so much, why did _he_ pay a visit every now and then? Was Prince Viserys immune to whatever curse had befallen Father? That seemed highly unlikely to Elaena.

"Don't be so solemn, Daeron," Daena scolded their brother. Elaena knew Daena didn't like it when even Daeron was at loss. It made her feel vulnerable, for even when she did not know what to do, Daeron would. Daeron's hopelessness made her uneasy, and it made Elaena uneasy too.

"If only we were allowed to visit," Daeron said in a soft tone. "I hate it that we cannot see him. I am the crown prince, I am to be king someday, but they still treat me like a child!"

 _Yes,_ thought Elaena. _If only we could see him, if there was a way to sneak into his room..._

That gave her an idea.

When the night fell, Elaena decided to execute her plan. Baelor, Rhaena and Naerys were busy praying for the king's recovery, Mother and Daena had gone to bed early, and Aegon was not in the Red Keep at all (Daeron was very amused when he was informed of Prince Aegon's whereabouts, but he didn't tell Elaena what exactly he found so amusing)which meant she only had to watch out for Aemon and maybe Uncle Viserys. Luckily, Aemon, as a Kingsguard, was tasked with guarding Queen Daenaera's chambers, so he was no danger either. Two Kingsguards stood outside King Aegon's room (she did not recall their names), but Elaena did not plan to enter the room through the big wooden door anyway. She had another plan.

A magnificent ivy grew outside, in the yard, and had grown so tall and vast it cloaked the entire wall. And was thick and strong too, strong enough to support a seven-year-old girl who needed to climb to her father's window.

The night was black, with not a single star in the sky, no moon. The air was cold, and sent a chill up Elaena's spine, but she had gone so far, what was she supposed to do, go back in bed? What if she ran into someone on her way back?

Much to her pleasure, no one was in the yard. Anyone would be a fool to be outside that cold night, and maybe she was a fool too for doing just that, but she didn't linger in that thought. This was her only chance.

Elaena grabbed into the ivy. _Will it support me? Or will I fall and break my back and become a cripple forever?_ Gods knew she didn't want to end up like Laena Velaryon, one of Aunt Baela's children by her husband Alyn Velaryon, who had fallen from a tower fifteen years prior, before Elaena had even been born. The fall had shattered her legs, and her mother had told her that poor Lady Laena would never walk again.

Making plans proved to be so much harder than executing them, Elaena soon came to know, quite bitterly. For half an hour she struggled to climb (to no avail) and for half an hour she'd repeatedly find out what falling on the frozen soil felt like.

Bloody, bruised, shivering, Elaena Targaryen got up and decided to try once more. _Daena wouldn't give up, nor would Daeron. I can do it. I can do it. I WILL do it._ _You are the blood of the dragon Elaena, what sort of dragon gives up?_ Of course, dragons could _fly_.

This time, the ground was somehow even harder than the other, previous times.

"Ouch!" she cried. She was on the verge of actually crying, her knees were bleeding and hurting her, and she was cold and away from her nice warm bed –

But the pain wasn't what made the blood in her veins freeze, no; from somewhere behind her, a laughter echoed, sweet and soft like a song.

 _Oh no._

Elaena turned her head around slowly, to look behind her back.

She had been wrong when she assumed she was alone in the yard. It would seem she wasn't alone at all; a boy of three or four years of age was sitting on a bench not far from her, hidden in the shadows, with a small wooden horse toy in his hands. He had probably been watching her all this time. That thought made Elaena's white cheeks blush.

"How long have you been there?" Elaena asked, angered but not loudly, lest someone hear her. "You little idiot, you've been spying on me this entire time?"

Daeron, whom they called 'little Daeron' to better distinguish from the older Daeron, gave a shrug.

"I saw you come, but didn't move," he said. "I was afraid you'd notice me, but you didn't. You were too busy trying to climb that ivy. Why do you want to climb it? That is the king's room, we are not allowed there."

"I am a princess of the blood, and his daughter besides," said Elaena haughtingly. " _You_ are not allowed there. _I_ am allowed to go wherever I wish." That was, of course, a lie, but Elaena hoped Daeron was too young to realise.

Daeron narrowed his eyes.

"Why don't you simply walk through the door, then?" he asked.

Elaena felt the sudden urge to slap the idiot.

"This does not concern you, little babe," she told him.

"My grandfather said very clearly that none but him and Grand Maester Munkun is allowed to see him," he said. "And I think 'everyone' includes you. And I am not a babe!"

"Oh yes, you're three, almost a man grown, I forgot." she said with a smile.

"I turn four this year."

"You turn four in _seven_ months. You're three, still a babe." Daeron would always get annoyed when someone reminded him he was the youngest of the Targaryens. Elaena knew her young cousin hoped more siblings would follow, so he wouldn't be the youngest anymore, but all of Princess Naerys's babes died before they had a chance to live, and Daeron remained an only child.

"I hope you understand you mustn't say anything to anyone," Elaena said, trying to sound intimidating. In theory, that shouldn't be too hard, Daeron was just a boy of three.

"What you are trying to do is bad," said Daeron.

Elaena kicked the ground.

"Your stupid grandfather would certainly think so," she said.

Daeron seemed to be quite puzzled by that.

"Grandfather is clever," he said. "He's not stupid, he's very clever, everyone says so–"

"Daeron, please shut your mouth, I can't stand your stupid voice."

Daeron shut his mouth. And Elaena grabbed the ivy once more.

"Are you going to try again to climb?"

"Well, since apparently you're interested in knowing, yes, little cousin, I am."

"You're a fool."

"I think I told you to shut up?"

Elaena turned to the wall.

 _Patience and steady steps, that's all I need._

She put one foot on the wall. Then another. Then again the first one, always careful to never let got of the plant. Before she realised, she had climbed much further up than before. _If I fall now, I am dead. Don't look down._

She made the mistake of looking down. The sight of the yard – so small! – beneath her made her almost lose her grip and fall – but she held on the last moment. Down, little Daeron was watching ecstatic.

Now her father's window was within her reach.

 _Almost there, almost there... YES!_

She had done it! She had done it! She was sitting on the window, she was looking into her father's room!

She looked down, on Daeron, and smiled at him, who smiled back. _He probably thinks I'm a hero from a song now_. Daeron liked songs more than any maiden Elaena knew. His favourites were the ones where honourable knights killed their greedy older brothers, thus saving the fair maiden.

Slowly, Elaena stepped into the dark chamber. Her father was there, resting on his bed. He looked so tired, so pale and weak. So unkingly. Fever seemed to have taken away all of his strenght, and left him a shell of what he had once been. It pained Elaena to see him like this. _No, you must rise, strong and robust, your kingdom needs you, your family needs you, I need you._

Elaena climbed on the bed. She pushed King Aegon's silvery hair off his gaunt face.

"Don't worry, father," she whispered. "Don't worry at all. I'm here. I'm with you. No harm will come at you."

She should spend the whole night with him, she decided. Mother always said a man's greatest strength lies in his family, and she was family. She was his daughter. Princess Elaena of House Targaryen, youngest child and daughter of King Aegon III Targaryen and Queen Daenaera Velaryon.

 _If I ever tell Daena of this, she'll kill me for not taking her with me_. Elaena loved their father, but Daena loved him more still, and she hated the fact that she wasn't allowed to see him. She always dressed in black, like he did, and would never take off the dragon pendant he'd given her, not even when bathing. Elaena wished she had something from her father too.

King Aegon suddenly opened his eyes. They were watery, and Elaena wasn't sure if he could see.

"Elaena?" he whispered, his voice barely heard, supporting his weight on his shoulders. "Is that you, or is this some fever dream?"

"It's me, Father, I'm here with you!" Elaena replied cheerfully. That only darkened King Aegon's face.

"What are you doing here, child?" he asked. "Go back to bed. Don't go anywhere near me, Elaena, you must leave, it is too dangerous."

But Elaena was having none of it.

"The Gods teach us not to abandon our family when they are most in need," Elaena said. "And you are in need."

King Aegon left out an undescribable nasal sound.

"Damn you, Baelor," he whispered, looking at the ceiling. He turned at her. "Elaena, I've got my brother Viserys, and he's more than enough. Leave now, go to your mother. How did you even get here? I told Ser Beric and Ser Cauloce not to let anyone enter, not even you."

"I'll stay," Elaena said, trying to sound more confident than she actually felt. _Please don't alarm your guards, I don't want to be dragged away_. "And there's nothing you can do to send me away."

Her father sighed, and let his head fall on his pillows.

"Elaena...," he dragged the word. "You... you are so... so... oh Gods, I needed another Rhaena, not a _Daena_..."

Elaena smiled. Father thought she was like Daena.

"Oh, I certainly hope now that Daeron is king he will tame you and her both... and that he won't do something stupid. Viserys will talk him out of it, sure..."

What? What was father saying? Daeron king? _He_ was king, and Daeron couldn't take the throne unless Father died, and Father wasn't going to die. Daeron wouldn't take the throne for many years to come. He wasn't a man yet, just fourteen years of age. A green boy.

Elaena looked at her father. He had fallen asleep again. His chest was going up and down, faintly, but steadily. _Well at least he breathes. Grand Maester Munkun is an idiot. We should send him away. I will tell Father in the morning._

Elaena coiled next to her father, too tired to try to leave through the window. She shut her heavy eyelids, and soon was having colourful dreams of her and Daena mounting the mighty dragons that had hatched from the eggs they had put in their cradles when they were still babes. It was a nice dream. Daena and she were smiling, Daeron was roaring with laughter, Rhaena was begging them to come down and Baelor had already passed out. Mother was there as well, looking anxious as always, and so was Uncle Viserys, annoyed and exasperated, her cousins too, capricious Aegon asking loudly for a dragon of his own, noble Aemon trying to pacify him, sweet Naerys holding her little son in her arms. Elaena looked for her father, but he was nowhere to be found.

When she woke up the next morning, King Aegon wasn't breathing anymore.

 **Notes: I obviously don't own the characters, they all belong to George R. R. Martin. This is for entertainment only.**

 **Well, it had been over a year since I updated the thing! Whoa! Please excuse my English, it is not my native language.**

 **I first considered the third chapter to be about Daena wanting to compete in some tourney, but changed mind. Naerys had a bigger part to play too.**


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